All Wrapped Up In My Invisible Llama

A Song Of Bells And Citrus Fruits
Light a candle, let it shine.
Add a little powder,
Make it blaze, brighter than nebulae,
A waxwork supernova to light you to bed.
Read by it, write by it, create a
Memory by it for you or someone else,
Or, if you’re really lucky, both.

Create all night,
Till the bells toll in the day.
What do we say to the sleepy god?
Not today.


As you may have gathered, I’m ludicrously over-excited about the return of Game of Thrones. I’m supposed to be an adult, this isn’t healthy.

Oh, right, a quote:
‘My life has no purpose, no direction, no aim, no meaning, and yet I’m happy. I can’t figure it out. What am I doing right?’ – Snoopy. Or Charles M Schulz in Peanuts if you insist.


You Don’t Have To Be Mad To Be Me, But It Helps

Nobody Came
What do I see when I turn out the lights?

A graveyard drenched by a
South-westerly force six
Pathetic fallacy.
There are no mourners, no
Landmarks at all, except –

A plain lonely headstone,
An incongruous priest

Reading words
The interred
Would have thought
Absurd, if
He’d have heard.
If he’d lived.

The nightly picture pans,
Zooms in on the headstone
And then on a picture
The priest holds in his hand.
The picture’s of me, but the
Name? Eleanor Rigby.


‘It is quite true what philosophy says; that life must be understood backwards. But then one forgets the other principle: that it must be lived forwards.’ – Søren Kierkegaard, Journals IV A 164

The Tyranny Of Maybe

Perhaps, Perhaps, Perhaps
Today is a day
Of brief furtive glances
And knowing half-smiles.

Today is a day
Of untaken chances
And untrodden miles.

As the grinders whirr
And the laptops purr
Attentions transfer
Between papers and plates and books
And cups.

Today was a day
Of unmade advances
And unspoken denials.


‘It may have happened, it may not have happened but it could have happened.’ – Mark Twain, The Prince And The Pauper